Too fragile for the beast

Chapter 37

Arsh didn't even bother to look up, just placed his phone face down on the table and muttered in his cold, clipped tone, "Stop being dramatic."

But Aryan only widened his eyes, staggering to the nearest chair as though he might collapse.
"How can I stop? Tell me, how? The man who made ministers tremble, who once made an entire city silent with just his glare... is now sitting here blushing at a WhatsApp chat. This is history. I swear I'll frame this moment."

Arsh shot him a glare so sharp that even walls would've cracked. "Try framing it, and you'll be in one."

Aryan burst out laughing, sliding down the chair with tears in his eyes.
"Ya Allah, someone save me. Arsh Akthar has fallen... not in a fight, but in love."

Arsh leaned back in his chair, sighing in irritation, but the corner of his lips twitched again—though he quickly covered it with his hand.

Arsh's patience snapped when Aryan kept cackling like a madman.
"Aryan..." Arsh's voice dropped, low and dangerous, his eyes narrowing like a predator ready to strike. "If one more word comes out of your mouth, I'll make sure you spend the night locked in the basement with the rats."

Aryan froze for a moment, then smirked, unfazed. "Basement? For witnessing your romantic downfall? Worth it."

Aryan stood up, raising his hands in surrender, but his grin stretched wider. "Fine, fine. But don't think this ends here. Next time, I'm recording your face when you smile at your phone. The world deserves to see it."

"Try it, and that phone will be buried with you," Arsh warned in his coldest tone.

Aryan chuckled all the way out, shaking his head. "Allah help my bhabi. She's married to a man who can burn the world but can't handle a little teasing."

Arsh slammed his palm on the desk, making Aryan jump. "Out, now."

Aryan leaned back in the chair opposite Arsh, arms crossed, refusing to leave. "Nope. Not going anywhere. I need answers. What happened yesterday?"

Arsh's jaw tightened. He didn't reply immediately, his fingers tapping the desk in a restless rhythm. Aryan's teasing grin dimmed a little. "Arsh... don't tell me you messed up again?"

A muscle ticked in Arsh's cheek. Finally, he exhaled and spoke, his voice low. "I... slapped her."

Aryan shot up from his chair like he'd been electrocuted. "You what?! Arsh! Are you insane? She's not one of your enemies!" His voice boomed with fury, eyes blazing. "She's your wife, your amanah! How could you—"

"Aryan, stop." Arsh's voice cracked through the air, sharp but laced with something rare—guilt. His hand balled into a fist on the table. "I already apologized."

Aryan froze mid-rant, blinking as though he misheard. "Wait... what did you just say?"

Arsh's eyes dropped, his voice barely above a whisper. "I apologized. I told her I'll never hurt her again... and—" he paused, almost hesitant to say it aloud, "she said she's willing to give this marriage a chance."

For a long moment, Aryan just stared at him—then dramatically clutched his chest, staggering back. "Astaghfirullah... my head feels drowsy again. Did the world just tilt on its axis? The great Arsh Akthar, the mafia boss who doesn't bow to anyone... apologized and got his wife to agree to give this marriage a chance?!"

"Stop it," Arsh growled coldly, glaring at him.

Aryan leaned forward, smirking despite his still-burning anger. "No, no, I need a minute to process this. You actually said sorry and you actually got your innocent wife to give you a chance? who makes the world kneel with fear—kneeling with words before a fragile girl? Allahu Akbar, I think I'm going to faint!"

Arsh slammed his palm on the desk, making the coffee cup rattle. "Aryan!"

But Aryan only shook his head, a strange mix of disbelief, anger, and amusement tugging at his lips. "Arsh... don't get me wrong. I'm still furious you dared to raise a hand on her. That's unforgivable. But..." he sighed, eyes softening slightly, "if she gave you a chance after that, don't you dare waste it. She's too pure for your darkness."

Arsh didn't reply, but his silence spoke louder than words. His gaze drifted back to his phone on the desk, and for the first time, Aryan saw something different in his friend's eyes—regret, yes, but also a flicker of hope.

Aryan leaned back in his chair, still eyeing Arsh as though he were some rare species he had just discovered. Then, after a beat, he tilted his head and said casually, "It's almost a month since you two got married."

Arsh's brows drew together, wary of where this was heading.

Aryan smirked, drumming his fingers on the armrest. "Tell me... why don't you take her on a trip? Somewhere far from here. Just you and her. Away from this chaos, away from this city that's always drowning in your shadows. You both could finally... get along."

Arsh's jaw tightened as he leaned back in his leather chair. The idea tugged at something inside him, but his voice came out firm. "You know the situation. I don't think it's safe."

Aryan's smirk widened into a grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Then let's keep it a secret. Just you, me, and Allah knowing. No one else. Not even the men. Simon's here, he'll hold the ground. You can leave the country for a while, vanish under the radar."

Arsh glanced at him, conflicted. The thought of Shafiyya in peace, away from all this, ignited a warmth inside him. But then the weight of his world pressed back on his shoulders. "Aryan..." he warned.

Aryan cut him off with a wink, leaning forward like he was sharing some grand conspiracy. "Make it a honeymoon, dude."

The word hit Arsh like a jolt. Honeymoon. A concept so ordinary for most newlyweds, yet so foreign in his dark world. He turned his gaze away, staring at the faint glow of his phone screen where her image was still frozen—his fragile wife in that baby pink dress, smiling softly at someone over the phone.

For the first time, he allowed himself to imagine it. Shafiyya in some quiet place, free of fear, maybe even smiling because of him. His heart clenched at the thought.

Aryan watched his silence and shook his head with a small grin. "Arsh, you've conquered half the underworld. Don't tell me you can't manage a little honeymoon."

Arsh's lips curved faintly, a rare crack in his cold mask. But his eyes were shadowed, carrying both fear and longing.

To be continued •••

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